


Nirvana, or Shangri-La, or Valhalla

by AplusIsRoman



Series: Children of the Dark AUs [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger Management, Anti-Hero, Anxious Tim Drake, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Breaking and Entering, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is Not Okay, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, But Only a Little Bit - Freeform, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Children of the Dark AU, Civilian Tim Drake, Dehumanization, Dick Grayson is Neon, Dick Grayson is Not Robin, Dick Grayson is Robin, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotions, Fan Tim Drake, Fearless AU, Gen, Heroes to Villains, Human Experimentation, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt Dick Grayson, Identity Porn, Inspired by Music, Jason Todd Has a Heart, Jason Todd is Robin, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mentor-Protégé Relationship, Metahuman Dick Grayson, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Origin Story, Parent-Child Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Science Experiments, Sidekicks, Social Deprivation, Stalker Tim Drake, Stalking, Villains, and then, but only implied and it's very brief, sorta - Freeform, thennnn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23616493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AplusIsRoman/pseuds/AplusIsRoman
Summary: Destroying a threat, getting back at an enemy, and gaining a subject for his experiments all in one fell swoop was a strikingly easy feat for one Dr. Crane, known publicly as the Scarecrow.What would happen to Batman, or to the city's inhabitants, like the street rats and the fanboys? And what would become of one former acrobat turned child vigilante, Dick Grayson?
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jonathan Crane & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Children of the Dark AUs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605616
Comments: 33
Kudos: 85





	1. Blocking Off the Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> This story's inspired by Stay and Decay by Unlike Pluto. You can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kULpMcVOy5I

“If you stay in limbo, you’ll decay.”

At first there was just anger, unbridled and without a target. That’s what Dick Grayson opened his eyes to, that first morning. He was angry, oh, so angry. Bruce and Alfred had told him off more than once for his temper. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He remembered them, but he couldn’t focus on that memory for more than a millisecond. It was as if he could only think of the present. There was no instruction from the past to rely on, nor any punishment in the future awaiting him. 

“Odd, isn’t it, how integral fear is to a human being. It’s the root of our humanity, one might say.” The voice wasn’t talking to him. He couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the fire in Dick’s veins that he took out on whatever he was ripping apart. 

“Guilt comes from a fear of repercussion. Regret and sadness come from that as well. Relief comes when fear is alleviated, but fear must have been there in the first place. Joy comes from relief. Disgust, too, is a human repellent from things that can hurt it, things human bodies are afraid of. All that is left once fear is gone…” 

Dick was absorbed in the sensation. He heard noise, detected it, but didn’t process it. He could smell and taste the copper. He felt so very alive. He felt… tired.

“Anger is draining. It cannot last. It runs a person through the ringer, and they have to recuperate by experiencing something else. But without fear, there’s nothing else TO feel. So what happens, I wonder, once the anger is gone?”

The clamor died. Dick stopped. Nothing else was moving but him. He felt his mind become analytical. He scanned the area.

There were six bodies, all dead. It was a mixture of unarmed men and women. Dick looked down. He held a bloody birdarang in his hand. He could… focus a bit more now. He thought back to moments before. Yeah, he did this. He was puzzled, confused. He didn’t normally act like this. Normally, he’d be freaking out right now. He just killed people. He should be horrified, ashamed, or panicked, but he didn’t feel anything. He just felt tired. 

A door opened. A man walked through. Dick watched him, curious. It was a wilting feeling, one that perked up when he became conscious of it. He was overwhelmed all at once. He was curious - who was the man? What was he doing here? He _had_ to know - 

“Who are you?” He started. His eyes were intense, trained only on the man. He had to look up to make eye contact with him - Dick was only thirteen, after all. He was in the middle of a growth spurt, but it wasn’t finished yet. It was only thanks to his vigilante training that he wasn’t a bumbling mess all the time with his awkward gangliness. 

The man opened his mouth - to answer, Dick presumed - but Dick was too curious to wait. He had to _know,_ he had to know, he HAD TO KNOW!

“What’s your name? Where are you from?” The man paused, raising an eyebrow as Dick continued to pelter him with questions. “Why are you here? What’s your job? Where do you live? What are you wearing? How old are you? Do you have any pets? Do you have a criminal record? Do you have any siblings? Where were you born?”

“Holy shit, shut up!” The man decked Dick, sending him to the floor. Dick was surprised, and the surprise kept him on the tile, lying partly in a pool of blood from one of the bodies. He didn’t try to stand up, just cradled his aching jaw and revelled in the surprise until it faded away to a dull confusion. The man loomed over him. The voice from before spoke again. 

“Don’t kill him,” it said. It came from a loudspeaker in the ceiling, Dick realized. He wasn’t sure who it was talking to. The confusion gave way to curiosity again. 

Dick rolled over and stood up, looking at the man. He wondered why he wasn’t feeling what he should - he should be trying to escape, but he didn’t feel the need to. It was so strange! Why was he here? What did they want from him? Only curiosity pushed him forward; no other emotion powered these questions. 

“Answer him,” the voice from the loudspeaker came again. 

“What?” The man squawked. Dick figured he was probably some villain’s goon, and that Dick had been captured to get back at Batman - he was in his Robin uniform, after all, though his domino had been removed. (Again, he thought he should be _feeling_ something about that, but he wasn’t. He wanted to know _what_ he should be feeling and he wanted to know _why_ he wasn’t feeling it. _Where_ was he? _Who_ had captured him? _What_ was their plan? Questions, questions, so many questions!)

“He’s curious. Indulge him.”

“I…” The man scoffed, turning to Dick. “Fine, but ask ‘em _slower_ this time.”

Dick felt like he should feel something again, but there was nothing. He repeated his questions, and the man cut him off before he could add more. 

“Adam, Gotham, working, this, Gotham, fuck you, thirty two, no, yes, no, and you already asked that - _Gotham._ ” Adam counted off on his fingers, sighing when he finished. 

Dick frowned. He was sure, this time, that something should have happened - something in his head, or maybe his gut? It felt _empty._ Maybe he needed to ask more questions… his curiosity arose again. 

“Adam _what_ ?” He added. “What’s your favorite color? _When_ were you born?”

“Not telling you, blue, August.” Adam scowled. “How long do I have to do this, Crane?”

The name rang in Dick’s ears. So Scarecrow had him! That answered a few of his other questions. But it didn’t fix his _problem_ \- why did he _feel_ so strange? 

“Look at him, Adam,” the voice in the loudspeaker said. A familiar _something_ filled Dick up. He was _frustrated_ . He was supposed to feel _something_ when he got his questions answered, that was _why_ he was curious! It was… it was infuriating that it wasn’t happening! 

It was an overwhelming feeling, the anger, but Dick didn’t have anything to push it back. It lapped at his edges like water in an overfilled pool. 

“How do you feel, Robin, now that your curiosity has been sated? Not very _satisfied,_ hmm? Interesting that satisfaction, the feeling of having a question answered, of having a pursuit be worthwhile, brings a form of _joy_ \- which you can no longer feel.” 

“Why?” Dick demanded, his fists curling at his sides. Adam got into a defensive position in his peripheral, likely eyeing the bodies Dick had already managed to bring down. 

“I removed your ability to fear. Since it is the root of so many other emotions, you are losing those as well.” 

Dick listened to the answer, and let it swirl in his gut. Once again, that emotion - _satisfaction_ \- evaded him. Oh, he had hardly noticed it before, interrogating so many other criminals, grilling them for information - but now that it was gone, its absence burned like a hot poker to the gut. It was replaced by anger. 

“Why bother asking questions at all, if there is no reward? Besides, it’s not like the information _matters_.” Dick paused, turning the words over in his head. It didn’t really matter? Then why had Dick and Bruce spent months, years, scouring for information? Why had they sacrificed so much to uncover secrets, plans, names, identities - all this information, if it didn’t matter?

But it didn’t, Dick realized. No matter what happened, no matter what they did, no matter how long the inevitable was prolonged, their end was all the same. 

And Dick wasn’t afraid of that end anymore. 

He found the answer to Scarecrow’s questions, and the answer did not satisfy him. It couldn’t - not anymore. It didn’t anger him, either - it made sense. The anger drained from him a second time, leaving him more wiped out than before, and he hadn’t even fought anyone this go-round. 

Was this his life now? No, no more questions - this was his life now. All he could feel was… confusion, curiosity, disappointment, anger… and emptiness. He couldn’t control the first four, but he supposed being empty was better than hurting. 

Dick wasn’t afraid of being emotionless, anyway. 

“Take him back to the lab,” Scarecrow instructed again. Adam nodded and walked over to Dick. 

“Come with me,” he said in a gruff voice. He made to manhandle Dick out of the door before realizing that Dick had no intention to fight him. Dick felt empty. It was by choice, of course, but once the choice had been made he had no desire to go back. It was so easy… so convenient to just follow orders. 

“Like a robot,” Adam muttered. 

If Dick had allowed himself to feel, he may have been offended. He may have been angry. He may have tried to fight.

He shrugged, instead. 

\---

“He’s glowing!” 

It was true, Dick noted. They had pulled his gloves off. After the fight, they were a bit scraped up, but it wasn’t anything Dick would be concerned about even if he could be. His veins were illuminated in the slight bruising. His skin glowed too, but it was a soft glow, like the plastic stars Dick had glued to the ceiling. It was a sharp contrast from the electrical yellow that was Dick’s blood. 

Without Scarecrow’s serum, he’d be panicking. He wasn’t. 

“An… unfortunate side effect.” Dick could hear Scarecrow frowning from beneath the mask he wore. It was pointless, Dick mused, to wear a mask when around people who already knew his identity. It wasn’t like the public didn’t know about Dr. Crane’s constant reign of terror on the city, anyway. 

“We’ll have to draw out a long-term observational study and see if it wears off or worsens. We also need to monitor for other reactions that may occur down the road.” He turned to a woman - a fellow scientist, Dick guessed. “Run a full physical. Be _extensive_. We need as much data as possible.” 

The woman nodded, turning to Dick, who lay unrestrained on the metal table, hooked up to all sorts of tubes. The shackles he had probably worn when unconscious, snatched right off the streets when Batman had turned his back, now hung off the sides like nothing more than decoration. Dick didn’t need to be restrained, because he wasn’t fighting. 

“Strip,” the woman said, all clinical and business-like. Dick obeyed. 

\---

He was willing to follow any order, apparently. 

“Kill him.” There went Adam. 

“Don’t move.” He managed to stay in that particular stress position for an impressive amount of time before he collapsed. 

“Eat this.” It was rotten, slimy, and had quite possibly once been part of a human body. 

“Get angry.” He obeyed. 

He felt the heat rush up his body, a shaking fury. Dick let out an animalistic scream and struggled against the fools who moved to grab him. He bit one on the shoulder, drawing blood. He pulled away with a snarl, kicking another idiot in the groin. Oh he so desperately wished he could feel the satisfaction he knew should have filled him at the sight of the man curled over in pain. 

Ah, another emotion he could still feel: _want_ . Well, Dick was angry, and he definitely _wanted_ to beat the shit out of Scarecrow. (Why stop there? Stupid question, just like all other questions, and the whole process of asking questions anyway. He should just kill Scarecrow!) 

“How _dare_ you?” Dick howled across the room, where Scarecrow sat on the other side of bulletproof glass, writing down his observations. Dick kicked and flailed - oh, if he could feel grateful to Batman for those years of training now, he would be. He made his way to the glass, throwing a punch that hurt his hand more than it. Fluorescent mutated blood made its way to the surface of his knuckles, but Dick didn’t care. He could feel the pain, but what did it matter? He wasn’t afraid of getting hurt. He wasn’t afraid of anything. He was more than a bit sore about that fact, too. 

“What gives you the _right_ to control how I feel?! How _dare_ you take that from me!” Dick felt _violated,_ now that he was allowed to. 

“Interesting… I only told you to be angry, not to get angry at me.” He wrote down his notes as Dick’s pair of guards got back to their feet and began whaling on him, bringing him down quickly - it would be embarrassing if Dick could have been embarrassed. 

“Now, you shouldn’t waste up all your anger. You have a finite amount left in you, you know. Might want to save it up for later, when you can actually use it.” 

Dick quieted. That made sense. It was all very logical. He should save his anger for when it served a purpose. Now what purpose…? Probably someone else’s. Oh, well. It didn’t matter anyway. 

\---

“Dick,” came the broken voice of the man behind the cowl. Dick blinked. His eyes felt heavy. He was tired, but he kept fighting. The voice in his ear, the same one that had put the comm there hours ago, told him to. 

“Don’t obey him,” the comm whispered. 

“Please, Dick.” Batman held his hands out as if to placate him. There was nothing to placate. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t very logical. Dick would be disappointed if someone told him to be. Or maybe just unimpressed; he didn’t know if he could still feel disappointment. (And he knew better by now than to get curious about it.) 

“Come home. I can help you. I know this isn’t you, chum.” It didn’t sound like Batman’s gravel, but Bruce’s gentler tones. If only Dick could mourn, he would now. 

“Get angry at Batman,” the voice came. Dick’s eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched. His posture changed from empty to full of energy, a static that took the physical form of several quick swings and kicks that Batman dodged easily. Dick felt a noise building in his gut and let it out, a nonsense sound of rage that had been waiting for months to be released - months of silence, of robotic apathy as Dick worked at Scarecrow’s side. 

“If you wanted to help me, you should have _saved me_ ,” Dick growled. 

“I started looking for you _immediately_ , Dick, and I never stopped until-” 

“And this IS me!” Dick started grabbing rocks and throwing them, dodging and jumping to evade Batman’s attempts to capture him without hurting him. “This is what he made me - this is what you LET HIM MAKE ME!” 

“Please,” Batman reached for something, pulling out a - a gun? A dart gun, Dick realized, intended to knock him out. 

“Do NOT let him catch you!” The voice in his ear shouted. Dick grit his teeth and cartwheeled, kicked, flipped - and ran. His anger lit fires under his feet as he sprinted. 

“ROBIN!” If Dick could feel guilt, the wail of Dick’s mentor, his guardian and the man he had secretly come to regard as his father figure, he would have broken down then. He would have spun on his heel and come crying home. He would have fallen into Bruce’s arms and taken the sedative willingly. 

But he couldn’t, so he didn’t. Dick kept running. He glowed, softly, a beacon in the night.

\---

Everyone knew Robin had disappeared. Nobody was quite sure when, since the dynamic duo were infamous for keeping to the shadows, but gradually all of Gotham figured it out. They had been a bit distracted at first - the wealthy playboy philanthropist Bruce Wayne’s own ward was a harder hitting news-seller. It was widely known that somehow, that creep Scarecrow (the same one who got off on drugging the whole city into a nightmare coma every three years) had kidnapped the kid and turned him into a damn killing machine. Bruce Wayne pleaded with Batman and the public to report any leads on their location during teary-eyed interviews that made middle-aged mothers cry. It was a sensation for months, and it revived itself every time either Scarecrow or ‘Neon’, as the media nicknamed him, were spotted. 

Nobody knew what had happened to Robin. Jason figured he was dead. He said as much to Batman over burgers, sitting on top of the batmobile he’d tried to rob earlier that evening. 

“So forgive me if I’m a bit hesitant to go anywhere with ya,” Jason explained, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Thanks for the food, though. Guess you’re a nicer creep, at least.” 

“Jason,” Batman interrupted him as he scooted off the hood of the car, his feet landing on the ground. “I won’t make you come with me, but… I’d rather you were off the streets.”

Jason tensed. “I’m not going to some damn foster home.”

Batman sighed. “I can help you find somewhere good, if you don’t want to come with me, but I am not going to leave a child alone on the streets.” 

Jason glared, trying to shove his disdain for this conversation directly into the man’s brain. He couldn’t tell if Batman had blinked behind the cowl, though, so he gave up. 

“If you try any bullshit, I’m screaming _pedophile_ , got it?”

\---

Jason gawked. “You’re _Bruce Wayne_?”

He nodded, hanging his cowl up in a glass display case. He began removing the rest of the costume in a way that indicated this was routine. So, Jason was _not_ being messed with. 

“Holy shit. I can’t believe _Bruce Wayne_ runs around all night dressed up as his fursona.”

The glare he got would have been worth the comment if Jason had been looking. Jason stared at the display case next over. Robin’s costume hung solemnly in the darkness. Jason’s mouth went dry. There was a plaque, too. Jason squinted to read it in the dim light of the cave. 

_‘The Boy Wonder: A Good Soldier.’_

There was a birth date and a dash, but no date of death. Jason frowned and did the math. Robin would be seventeen around now, nearly eighteen. 

“So Robin’s not… dead…” Jason spoke, feeling the presence behind him as something in his head clicked together. “Holy shit, Neon. Neon was Robin. _Dick Grayson was Robin._ ” 

Jason whirled around to face Bruce Wayne, somehow now completely in his other persona. It had a bit of a whiplash effect on Jason, after seeing him in the Batman outfit to find him now in a suit and tie like he’d just come back from some publicity stunt. Bruce’s face looked tired. 

“I lost him,” Bruce said. It was simple, and Jason didn’t pry. He glanced back at the glass case and realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that Bruce was probably trying to make up for past mistakes with _him -_ taking in some other poor orphan. Would he stick _Jason_ in a suit and cape? He was up for punching assholes, but not for being kidnapped and experimented on, thanks! Neon had certainly gotten the short end of the stick. 

Jason fought back a scowl. He wouldn’t be staying long if he turned out to just be a _replacement_ . He wasn’t some 2.0 or anything, he refused to be. And if the plaque was anything to go by - well, Jason certainly was no _soldier._

“Alfred will have dinner ready.”

Jason blinked back to reality, where Bruce had already walked over to the spiral staircase leading up to a door. Jason followed, taking his time as he absorbed his surroundings.

Wow, Batman had a dinosaur? Who knew!

‘The last guy knew,’ a little voice that sounded like his common sense told him. Jason glanced back, but the glass case was blocked from view now by a giant playing card. 

“You should get an interior decorator,” Jason shouted, taking the steps two at a time. He’d technically eaten only a little while ago, but he wasn’t going to turn down food when he could get it, and the smells wafting from the open door were heavenly. 

Jason heard a sound in response that took him a moment to process. Laughter _._

Jason grinned. Maybe if he could keep the guy laughing, this place wouldn’t be too unbearable. 

\---

Jason was never asked to be Robin. They talked about school, and plays, and food, but rarely Bruce’s nighttime activities. Jason was allowed in the cave only before Batman began his patrols, and then Alfred would see him to bed. Sometimes Bruce got hurt and Jason would joke about teaching him a thing or two about surviving on the streets. Sometimes Bruce would laugh. Alfred told Jason in private that Jason was a blessing - Bruce hadn’t laughed since… well, since Dick became Neon. 

After a few months, Jason started to feel comfortable. 

After a year, Bruce adopted him. 

It had only been a week when Bruce made him attend one of those events where fancy people all go and spend a few hours bragging and pretending they didn’t want to strangle each other.

Sorry, ‘galas’. 

Nobody had _galas_ anymore, Jason had protested. It was an old thing from like, the _civil war._

Unfortunately, Jason’s new _family_ disagreed.

“A necessary evil, Jay-lad.” Bruce had sighed as they sat in the limo. A _limo!_

“So you agree that these things are evil,” Jason smirked. Bruce huffed. Not a total laugh, but Jason would take what he could get. 

The house itself sparkled, not just in cleanliness but with actual jewels and what may have been gold plating. Jason hadn’t had to steal to eat in a while now, but his mouth still watered at the sight of such good steals, all just right there, it would be so easy to just take - 

“Oh, this is your new cutie, Mister Wayne!” A stranger pinched Jason’s cheek out of nowhere, and he nearly bit her hand off. Bruce had the audacity to LAUGH at Jason’s suffering. 

“Yes, this is Jason.” Bruce beamed and oh, this is what Alfred had mentioned earlier with the quote, ‘stark contrast between Bruce Wayne and _Brucie_ Wayne.’

Jason hated it. He sucked in his gut and plastered on a fake smile, going for a mocking impression of his new adoptive father. 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” His voice was so sickeningly saccharine, anyone from the streets would have knocked his two front teeth in without a moment’s hesitation. Somehow, the people around them just _lapped it up._

“Oh, he’s just precious!” Someone squealed.

“What a fine young gentleman, Bruce.” 

“Handsome, too! I’m sure all the girls at his school must _adore_ him.”

They didn’t, actually. Gotham Academy had been its own special hell the past year. Oddly, these people’s trust fund daughters weren’t too keen on a street-rat turned high society pity-pet, as they saw him. 

Brucie laughed, a fake sound that grated on Jason’s ears. He’d heard Bruce’s real laugh, and it was a memory he didn’t want corrupted, thank you. 

The rest of the night was a mess. If Jason had to look back and pinpoint the worst part of it, it would definitely be the fucking cheek-pinching. It hurt, and the damn kiss-asses just wanted to butter up Brucie. But a close second worst had to be when Neon burst in through a window with a machete and killed a guy. 

...Yeah, maybe Jason should rethink his priorities.

The gala was, however, over, Jason figured, watching everyone stream to the front entrance to, you know, get away from the knife-wielding maniac. Jason went with them, of course, because getting trampled was a worse way to die than getting decapitated, like that poor dude had been. Also, Jason was _definitely_ going to have nightmares about that, haha. Was this what repression felt like? Jason decided it wasn’t important as he scanned the room and found Bruce nowhere in sight.

A hand grabbed Jason as he stumbled out of the building, pulling him away from the crowd. He glanced up to see the man of the hour looking stern. It was so normal compared to the ‘Brucie’ act that Jason felt relieved. 

“Here are the keys. Start the engine, and the car should drive you home.”

Jason blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I have my own ride coming.” Ah, Bruce had summoned the batmobile. 

“Won’t they notice a car without a driver?” Jason frowned.

“The car’s programmed to take a back route and tint the windows; in all this pandemonium, no one will notice. Now _go,_ Jason.”

Jason blinked and Bruce was gone, having waded into the crowd, each individual indiscernible from the other in their identical suits and gowns. 

\---

“Master Jason, are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely. Could you hand me that hook-thing?”

“The grappling gun?”

“Yeah, that. Thanks, Alf.”

\---

Dick Grayson was analytic and cold. He didn’t feel anything unless he was told to, allowed to. He couldn’t even choose to resent that. It would be illogical to do so, anyway. It would be more logical to be grateful, if he were capable of it. He’d ask, ‘how would a robot make his own decisions?’ if he didn’t despise questions and answers so much. Or he despised them when he was allowed to, anyway. 

Neon was analytic and cold and he glowed. He glowed when he bled, when he sweated or bruised, and his skin was its own gentle shade of glow when he got physically worked up. 

He was an easy target, but Scarecrow had told him to use that to his advantage. After all, the Robin costume had been brightly colored too. (Neon remembered the look on Batman’s face when he’d returned that to him. It was only a flash of memory; there was no point dealing in the past if it did not help him follow orders in the present.) 

He expected Batman. He was running from him, fighting when Batman caught up and then sprinting off in another direction. Neon would lose him eventually and be able to make it back to the hideout without Batman determining its location. That had been part of his orders, of course. The comms had gotten hacked the last time they were used, by Batman no less, so they were giving extensive orders before assignments now. 

The man Neon had killed… Neon didn’t know why Scarecrow wanted him dead. He didn’t care, and he didn’t dare get curious. 

Neon dodged another batarang. He missed one, and it scraped his ankle, the tip of the blade dripping the same yellow as a sports drink. Neon looked over his shoulder, then stumbled to a stop.

He _felt_ something, stirring in his gut… _naturally_ . He hadn’t been _told_ to feel surprise, but he did, turning slowly to face… 

...Robin. 

Neon blinked a few times, considering the possibility of being drugged before dismissing it. This child didn’t look like him. For those who had only ever seen the Boy Wonder in the glimpses caught on camera or in a dark alley as he saved them, they probably couldn’t tell the difference. But Neon knew _himself_ better than they did. This new Robin was stockier. Neon’s hair was wavy, but not as curly as his. Their skin tones were different as well, and this Robin had freckles. 

His shoes were just sneakers, Neon noted, not the pixy boots he’d worn. They weren’t protective or anything, just some kid’s shoes. 

“Batman doesn’t know you’re here.” Neon said. Not a question, but a statement. Neon allowed the surprise to sink in. It was a neutral feeling, but it was a _feeling_ , and Neon craved it like he craved anger and confusion. (Never curiosity, never, never again.) He _wanted_ to feel. 

“Pity he’ll miss me kicking your ass,” Robin chirped, moving to make good on his promise. His voice had a thick Gotham accent, he noted. He wasn’t a “local” like Bruce was. This boy was a down-and-gritty Gothamite. 

Neon dodged his first swing gracefully, his acrobatics making his moves less of a fight and more of a dance. (He wasn’t fighting, though, he was watching. He wanted, desperately _wanted_ for Robin to surprise him more.) 

“Oh, come on, won’t you _hold still?_ ” Robin demanded. Neon stopped moving, holding his hands at his sides. 

Robin paused, holding his fighting stance. (It wasn’t the worst, but it wasn’t great. He had the arm part down, but not the feet.) He frowned, clearly confused. Neon envied him. 

Neon savored that. Oh, _envy_. It was delicious. He wanted more. The new Robin was just the gift that kept on giving. 

“You’re listening to me?”

Neon frowned. _Disappointment._ Oh, lord, was that a new flavor! The disappointment at being asked a _question_ , which he had to answer. The command was implied, after all, and Dick had never been told not to answer to Robin, only Batman.

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Robin put his arms down. “You’re not trying to fool me? Lull me into a sense of security?” 

“No.”

“Oh.” Robin looked a bit off-put. “Well, alright.”

And oh, the _surprise_ when Robin’s fist connected to Neon’s jaw - if he could feel joy, he would be elated. 

On the ground now, Neon could see his mistake: it was not a batarang that had hit his ankle, but a birdarang. 

The bat couldn’t be far behind, though, and he’d been given strict instructions not to get caught. 

Neon had also been told to hold still. He glanced at Robin.

“You’re not going to get up?”

“You said to hold still. I’m holding still.”

“Oh.” Robin looked embarrassed now. “I don’t… um… I don’t really have anything… any rope or anything… I guess, if you’re gonna listen to me or something, go turn yourself in?”

Neon thought about it. That probably counted as getting caught. But he could complete part of the command and ‘go.’ It didn’t clash with any of his earlier commands. Yes, he would follow the command to the best of his ability without compromising earlier commands - he would go, like Robin said. He just wouldn’t turn himself in. 

Neon stood up. “Okay.”

“Right… um… okay.” Robin grinned. “Awesome. Go turn yourself in and, uh, go see a therapist.”

“...A therapist.”

“Yeah.”

Neon flipped off the side of the building. He would have felt pride in Robin’s little gasp at the feat, but he couldn’t. Instead, he busied himself with wondering how on earth he was going to obey the second part of Robin’s commands.

He left just in time to miss Batman’s screech at the sight of his son in full Robin regalia, sans, of course, the pixy boots. (Which hadn’t fit.)


	2. Making Noon Like Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny detective gets caught watching his idols. Realizations are had across the board.  
> Barbara makes her first appearance.

Tim had been very young when Robin was last spotted on the streets. He’d seen the depression Batman - Bruce Wayne, Tim alone knew - had sunk into at the loss of his ward, and to a villain no less. Perhaps if Dick had actually died, Batman may have had a separate reaction, but the sluggish slump of passivity Tim had seen him in had deterred Tim from continuing his nightly jaunts. (It didn’t help seeing Dick on TV, usually either surrounded by blurry gore-censors or by the green smoke of fear gas. What if Tim had been snatched that night, instead?) 

It was a few months after Neon had killed one of the patrons of a gala and Tim knew Jason Todd-Wayne - Bruce’s adopted son and Tim’s neighbor - must have been there. That must have been the trigger, he figured.

The new Robin was just as chatty as the last one, Tim thought as he ventured back out onto the rooftops for the first time in years. A familiar thrill ran through him as he watched the dynamic duo in action once again. How had Jason convinced Bruce to let him out on the streets? Tim honestly had no idea, but he was grateful. 

Jason was actively mimicking the old Robin, Tim could tell, with his humor and light-heartedness. Tim could see him pulling his punches too, even when he clearly didn’t want to. The new Robin would probably have been more cocky and snarky if he weren’t checking over his shoulder at Batman every few minutes.

A sad smile settled on Tim’s face. Jason’s technique was working. Batman was acting more alive than he had in years. It showed in his stance and speech, as well as his work. Batman had sorely missed Robin. 

Tim had, too.

He had a reason to come home from school every day, instead of lurking at the library and praying to find a new book to read, trying to pass the time before he had to return to an empty home. Now he rushed home, prepping his camera and finding warm clothes as he calculated what route Batman and Robin would be taking. (Now that Robin was back, Batman was switching things up more often, and it made a fascinating challenge to determine where they’d be and when, but Tim always figured it out eventually.) 

It was one chilly winter night that Tim’s beloved new routine hit its first… stumble. 

He was sitting on the roof of a cannery, snatching a wonderful shot of Robin, who was perched on the edge of a warehouse beneath him, silhouetted by the shine of a streetlight just below. His pose looked like something off a comic book cover - he was lounging, technically, but poised to move at any moment. His confident grin complimented the shadow of Batman, who was more actively scanning the area for whichever criminal they were tracking. 

Tim was quiet, both as a person and by design. He had to be, to track Batman undetected for so many years. He could hear anything louder than him, no matter how quiet it may have been as well. Tim doubted, actually, that Batman would be able to sneak up on him the same way he did everyone else. He had no concrete proof, but circumstantial evidence stood in his favor. 

Case and point, Tim heard when someone landed on the roof behind him. 

With how quiet they were, most people probably wouldn’t. 

Tim froze. There was nothing on this roof to feasibly obscure their view of him. He glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes widened. 

Neon crouched down next to him, impossibly close. Tim didn’t dare move. Neon didn’t acknowledge him, just watching the dynamic duo from the same vantage point as Tim… about two  _ inches _ away from him. 

Was Tim going to die? Sure, Batman and Robin were right there, but Neon was closer, and could kill him before they could react, even if Tim screamed. Actually, if Neon killed him  _ before _ Tim screamed, they may not realize either of them were there at all. How long would it take for someone to notice a body on a  _ roof _ ? Tim had never wondered that before, and it terrified him. 

Neon glanced at him and he felt like he might faint. 

“...Hi.” Tim cringed, even as the word fell like a breath from his lips. He watched his breath rise into the air, the bitter chill turning it visible.

Neon looked back down to the warehouse. His face was blank; there was nothing there at all. Tim swallowed. It was probably good that Neon wasn’t feeling anything. It meant Tim might live. 

“Look,” Neon said. Tim blinked. He hadn’t expected a response. Tim looked down. Batman and Robin had retrieved their grappling guns and were jumping off the roof, flying through the air and into the dark.

They weren’t following anyone, Tim pondered as he frowned, which meant they’d come back tomorrow night too, and every night until they found their guy. 

“You know where they’re going.” Tim jumped out of his own thoughts, reminded harshly that he was currently sitting closer to an emotionless killer than Tim usually did on the bus with people he knew. 

“W-What?” Tim blinked owlishly up at the man who stood now, looming over him. Tim noticed that despite the weather, he was dressed only in his usual thin, skin-tight black bodysuit that left his hands and head bared to the cold as if in defiance of it. Tim also noticed that Neon’s skin wasn’t glowing - which meant he hadn’t been very active tonight. He must have only just now come out and about.

Neon repeated himself, slower this time. “You know where Batman and Robin are going. You know their routes.” 

Tim’s heart started to pound in his chest. “Um, no, I - I usually just get kinda lucky, you know, um -”

“You follow them every night. You always know.” The blue in Neon’s eyes shone from the glare of the same streetlight that had silhouetted Robin earlier. 

Tim swallowed. He was still sitting at the edge of the roof, where a short wall prevented people from tripping over the edge on accident, and had helped Tim remain unseen countless nights before. He used it now to brace himself as he curled inward, his whole body wanting to get  _ away _ from the thing in front of it. 

“What do you want from me?” He whispered. 

Neon pointed to the camera in Tim’s hands. “You follow them because you like them. You started when Robin did.”

Tim wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, so he just nodded.

“You have a special interest in Robin.”

Tim nodded, again. 

“So do I.” Neon looked out over the buildings, searching, possibly, for a glimpse of the bright-colored boy. Tim blinked. 

“Do you… want a picture?” Tim had no clue what was going on or what possessed him to make the offer, but when Neon looked down, he wasn’t feeling  _ nothing _ . (How strange was it that to see someone feeling something was scarier than when they felt absolutely nothing at all?)

“Yes.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Tim fiddled with his camera. “I’ll have to, um, print them out first. I only have digital copies.”

That was a lie. Tim deleted his digital copies as soon as he printed them. It was safer, in case anyone found out about his evening hobby and wanted to use it against Batman… 

...Like Neon might. 

“I will meet you at your house tomorrow night, as you are leaving,” Neon said. “I am usually there anyway, to follow you.”

Tim’s hands shook. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.”

“Um, every night?”

“Yes. As soon as I discovered you, I followed you home. That was two months ago.”

Tim’s voice may or may not have squeaked in response. “Oh.”

“Why do you, um, want a picture? What do you want with Robin?” Neon frowned, and Tim felt the panic rise in his throat. 

“He is a sufficient replacement. You see that as well.” Neon paused, contemplating his words. “You and I have a mutual interest in him. I started following you to ensure you were not an extension of a scheme intended to hurt him, but you’re not. You’re only in this for your own personal benefit.”

“Why don’t you want someone to hurt him?”

“Personal benefit, just like you.”

Tim felt a little sick. Sure, he was doing this for himself, but he wasn’t hurting anyone in taking some pictures and maybe, possibly, doing a bit of fan-boying on the side. But  _ Neon _ ? Neon doing something ‘for his own personal benefit’ might involve murder. 

“So… how does having Robin around, and having his picture, personally benefit you?” Tim had realized, of course, that he was dancing with a devil by continuing this conversation, but he felt he owed it to his heroes to figure out what was going on. If it was something sinister, (which it probably was,) he could try to find a way to warn them. 

“Robin provokes me,” Neon explained. “He’s… surprising, and confusing, and frustrating, and at times disappointing. He can even make me envy him.”

“That sounds… bad. Like, you don’t like him.”  _ Shut up, Tim, shut up! _

“I can’t like anything. I can only despise things, and feel nothing towards all else.”

“Right. I, uh, I know that.”

“I can only feel what I am told to feel.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, that’s what, um, Batman said.”

“Unless Robin makes them come naturally.”

The statement came out of nowhere, and Tim felt like he’d just been slapped. “You can feel things that aren’t on command when Robin’s around?”

“Yes,” Neon nodded. “Doctor Crane tells me what to do. I am not allowed to feel anything for Batman unless he says so. But he’s made no rules about Robin.”

“So it’s… that’s why you like him,” Tim realized. “And you want a picture… because then he won’t have to actually be around for you to be able to feel things more naturally. It’ll just remind you of that, um, that surprise and disappointment and envy and stuff.”

Neon frowned. “I don’t  _ like _ anything. I cannot.”

“Sorry, I guess it’s more… the satisfaction of getting what you want?”

Neon blinked. “I cannot feel satisfaction.”

Tim bit his lip. “Well, you must have gotten it once you realized being around Robin got you what you wanted. Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t indulge in your  _ wants _ at all, right? Because what would be the point if you’re never satisfied?”

There was a pause as Neon seemed to digest this information. “That is… why I am not curious. There is no satisfaction.”

It started to snow. A tiny flake fell on Tim’s nose and vanished. “Maybe there are different kinds of satisfaction. Maybe there are some you can still feel.”

Tim stood up, his legs tingling from squatting in the same position for so long. Neon hadn’t moved. 

“You’re making me feel things,” Neon announced, nearly bowling Tim over. “You’ve made me want a picture, and be disappointed at your questions, and then surprised at your conclusions, and then confused over those same conclusions.” 

“How… How many people do you interact with? Is it just Scarecrow, Batman, and Robin?” If Neon had a limited social life (...being, you know, an evil sidekick...) it would explain his attachment with Robin, who was the most normal out of the three. 

Neon glared at that, which oddly made Tim feel a little bold. Okay, so maybe now Tim had to worry about a stalker problem - oh well, that was probably karma. Despite said stalker’s criminal record, Tim felt maybe he could handle him. If Neon would go so far as to track a potential threat to Robin for  _ weeks _ just because Robin made him feel human emotions, then he probably wouldn’t hurt Tim for doing the same. 

“So, I’ll go print that picture for you, then,” Tim swung a leg over the side, gripping the metal of the fire escape ladder with his gloves as the snowfall became heavier. “See you tomorrow?” 

Tim didn’t get a response. 

\---

Neon hadn’t intended to ask the Drake boy for a picture. He’d  _ intended _ to find out HOW he knew Batman’s routes when they changed so frequently. They weren’t the same as when Neon had been Robin, and he couldn’t track them anymore. It was frustrating until he’d gotten lucky, and spotted the child surreptitiously photographing them from an even higher high-rise. 

But then Timothy, as Neon’s research showed he was named, had  _ offered _ him a picture, and Neon realized he desperately wanted one. (It was the easiest feeling to trigger, Neon had found -  _ want _ .) 

And then Timothy had given him a REASON, an oh-so-logical purpose to  _ have _ the picture of Robin - because that was the point of photographs, right? To capture the exact essence of a person and have it exist in a place where that person is not. Neon wouldn’t even need the real Robin anymore if he had a picture to remind him of everything. 

All those questions, though! Neon did not like how Timothy was so like Robin in his urgent questioning. (Not that he COULD like it.) Of course it made sense, logically, because both Timothy and Robin could still feel satisfaction from having their curiosity sated. 

...Neon paused in his musing. He’d been in his room - a cell and bathroom fashioned with a cot and workout equipment to keep his body in shape until Dr. Crane either let him loose on Gotham for ‘exercise’ or sent him on a mission. He stopped his workout though, sitting down on the concrete floor to stare at a wall as he thought. 

How could he still feel satisfaction,  _ any _ form of it? Dr. Crane said it wasn’t possible.

Satisfaction was a form of joy. Joy came from the release of fear. Dick didn’t have any fear, and so couldn’t be relieved of it. Thus, he shouldn’t feel any more satisfaction.

Unless… not all joy was a release of fear. Perhaps the variables were more independent than Dr. Crane had thought. 

Dick was hit with the realization that he couldn’t tell Dr. Crane. Scarecrow would try to fix it. After all, maybe it was not that Scarecrow was wrong, but that the serum was  _ wearing off. _

Dick could tell he did not feel hope for that, but he did want it.

He  _ wanted _ it, and it would be  _ satisfying _ for it to happen. 

\---

Neon had the picture of Robin laminated and hid it in his boot. Timothy offered to sew a secret pocket in the sole, and Neon let him, watching him the whole time like a hawk. 

Timothy seemed acutely aware of it, with the way he shifted and glanced around. They were in his home, and it was empty except for them.

“Your parents have not been home the entire time I have been watching you,” Neon broke the silence. 

Timothy shrugged. He was a small boy, underfed and barely strong enough to lift his own weight to parkour across the city in the dead of night, tailing the city’s vigilantes. “Their work trips take months. They’ve done it since I was four.”

“They don’t leave you with a caretaker.”

“They haven’t since I turned ten, and I’m twelve now.”

“You are legally too young to be left alone that long.”

Timothy looked up in surprise. Neon felt a pang of - ooh, envy again.  _ (It coupled nicely with the satisfaction of getting what he wanted.) _

“I mean… with their money, good luck suing them. Especially considering you’re not exactly a paragon of upstanding citizenship yourself, Dick.”

Oh, his name. Of course Timothy knew it. 

Neon frowned. “You need a guardian.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m eighteen.”

Timothy actually looked  _ shocked _ this time. “There’s - are you suggesting  _ you _ be my guardian?”

Neon’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure.”

Uncertainty tasted the same as confusion, but with a hint of irritation. 

Timothy finished sewing the pocket and handed the boot back to Neon, who folded up the picture - Robin looked spectacular, lit up by the streetlight just under him, in a classic ‘superhero’ pose even if he didn’t know he was being watched - and slid it into the pocket, putting the boot back on. 

Neon made for the open window in Timothy’s room, the same way he’d come in.

“Wait!” Neon turned around to face the boy. 

“Are you going to keep following me?” 

Neon thought for a moment. “Yes.”

Timothy’s expression hardened. “Are you going to tell Batman or Robin about me?”

Neon shook his head, and Timothy relaxed.

“Okay. Um, goodnight, then.”

“You’re not heading out?”

“I have some things to think about.”

Neon nodded, understanding. He had things to think about too. 

He swung out the window and into the night without another word.

\---

“How did you get him to be so obedient?” Dick ignored the voices outside his cell, continuing through his warm-up routine as if they weren’t there at all.

“Simple. Early on in the process, he consciously  _ chose _ not to feel anything at all towards me or what I do. The only thing left, then, is automatic obedience.” Dr. Crane was showing off. Whatever. 

“But he can still feel some things unprompted, just not for you?” The woman looked thoughtful. 

“He’s only ever given extensive time with myself and with Batman, and he has orders on what he’s allowed to feel for the latter, of course.”

“But if he were to encounter someone else, even briefly, who managed to make an impact?” Dick frowned, but they didn’t notice. They were walking away, and he looked over his shoulder to watch them go.

“...An interesting potential dilemma, you’ve just proposed. It hadn’t occurred to me. Perhaps I should…” 

The voices faded as a door opened and shut down the hall.

This could be a problem.

\---

Jason hadn’t seen Neon since that first night. Batman had fought with him, but Robin hadn’t. (Sometimes, though, that sixth-sense of being watched would run up his spine, and Jason would glance over his shoulder and try to convince himself the movement he saw was just a cat running off into the dark…) 

“I’ve called the batmobile to your location, Robin. Get in it and go home.”

“What?” Jason squawked into the comm. He’d just been lounging, surveying one of the safer areas in Gotham - one of the few Batman let him patrol alone  sometimes. 

“Do as I say, Robin.”

“What’s going on? Why?”

There was some noise on the other end of the comm, and then it cut off. Jason frowned. 

Batman was in a fight with someone, and he didn’t want Robin around for it. The batmobile pulled into view, quiet as a mouse. If Jason got in, the doors wouldn’t unlock until it got back to the cave. But if he didn’t, Bruce would know.

Oh, well. Jason had a habit of pulling Bruce’s strings, why stop now?

Besides, he figured as he pulled out the grapple and headed to a specific destination, Batman could probably use backup in a fight. Jason just had to find out where he was… 

Robin knocked on the window twice, paused, and then knocked twice again. The window opened and he was ushered inside. 

The light turned on. Robin grinned. “Hey, Batgirl.”

“Hey to yourself,” Barbara rubbed her eyes. “Is there a reason you woke me up, or is this a social call?”

“B wants me to head home outta nowhere, I figure he’s probably up against somebody right now.”

“And you’re of course throwing his fatherly well-wishes out the window and saying screw it, I’m helping?”

“Duh.” Robin laughed. “What else am I here for?”

Barbara rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Keeping me up all night, apparently.”

She pulled out her laptop and began to work. “I’ll hook you up to my comm so I can update you on his movements.”

“Where is he right now?” Robin leaned over where she sat to watch the screen.

“Here.” Barbara pointed to a little black dot moving steadily south-ward on the screen.

Robin memorized the location and nodded, heading back the way he came.

“You know,” Barbara started, making Robin glance back. “You aren’t obligated to take care of him. He’s a grown adult.”

Robin shrugged. “Well, what else am I here for?”

He ducked out, and a breeze ruffled the curtains through the open window. 

Barbara frowned, turning back to her computer.

\---

Jason hadn’t seen Neon since that night, but boy howdy did he see him now. He was glowing like a damn lightbulb. The guy didn’t even have a shadow.

He was injured, he saw, and badly. Someone had beaten the shit out of him, and it wasn’t Batman. Jason watched Bruce aim his hits intentionally not to harm, but to incapacitate. The guy didn’t want to hurt his kid.

His  _ other _ kid. He must have noticed by now that the batmobile never picked up Robin. Jason watched the two fight, and it dawned on him that… somehow, Bruce  must not be aware that Neon would just  _ follow orders. _

(Well, to an extent. He’d never actually turned himself in, but it WAS in the papers that he’d dropped into some poor therapist’s office and scared the living daylights out of her. So he followed…  _ most _ orders. Scarecrow had probably already told him not to turn himself in, or something, Jason figured.)

With that thought in mind, Robin flipped into view, landing on top of a crate of some sort with a clatter. Both parties turned to look at him. Neon looked surprised. Batman did not.

“Robin,” they said in eerie unison.

“Correct,” Robin was all smiles. “How ‘bout we all sit down and talk about this and pretend you’re both rational, emotionally-adjusted adults?”

Barbara’s cackle in his ear was worth the disapproval Batman was throwing him. 

“I have orders,” Neon spoke and wow, he was  _ way _ worse off than Jason had initially thought. He was covered in highlighter-yellow splotches that shone through the black material of the one-piece bodysuit he wore. His hands were bloody, and judging from the luminescence of it, a decent amount of that blood was his. He was throwing all his weight onto his left leg, indicating a more serious injury on the right, since everybody knew Neon generally just  _ ignored  _ pain. 

“Stay and tell us what happened to you,” Robin frowned. Batman opened his mouth to say something. 

“My target had bodyguards.” Neon cut him off before he could start. Batman closed his mouth. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell, but Batman was surprised. Jason felt a bit proud about that. 

Robin nodded. “You look like you need a doctor.”

“I will receive medical attention when I return.” Neon scowled. “I cannot stay long. I was told to get back before sunrise.”

“Whatcha think, B-man?” Robin turned to Batman. “What should we do? You’re the boss.”

Batman took a second to ruminate. “Does it go… against your orders to be knocked unconscious?” 

“I will not answer your questions.”

“Tell  _ me  _ the answer,” Robin spoke up. 

“It goes against my orders to be apprehended by Batman or by law enforcement in any way,” Neon clarified. “I’m leaving now.”

Batman made to intercept him, but Robin moved to block him, hands up.

“Let ‘im go, B. He needs that doctor.” Robin grinned. “And hey, I’m sure now you’ll be able to come up with a solid plan to help him and stuff now that ya know he just does what we tell him to.”

“He doesn’t do what we tell him to, Robin.” Batman looked down at him. “I’ve tried that before. It was one of the first things I tried.”

“He listens to two people: Scarecrow, and you. We need to find out why.”

\---

Tim hadn’t seen Neon since that night. He knew when he was being watched and when he wasn’t. It was a good way for him to track when Scarecrow was going to be active, and to start sneaking his gas mask into school again. Neon wasn’t let out every night, after all - but he’d promised to watch Tim every night he could, and Tim had no reason to believe that was a lie. 

Last night, Tim’s parents had been home. They were only home for eight days, and it had been their final evening before their flight in the early hours of the morning. Tim didn’t want to risk getting caught, so he’d stayed put in his bedroom, analyzing the patterns of Neon’s public appearances versus when he stalked Tim. He woke in the morning and resumed his work, finding hours-old amateur footage online of Neon running from Batman. That wasn’t too unusual, but Neon had been glowing so much he didn’t seem to leave a shadow. Tim frowned, not liking how Neon’s suit, simple as it was, disguised his injuries so well. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe now, Neon was dead. 

Tim went to school. He ate lunch. He left school. He did his homework and had a snack bar in lieu of dinner. He readied his camera and headed out.

Robin was grounded tonight, Tim observed, judging by the lack of Jason on patrol. Batman seemed to be investigating a long-term case on top of his regular route. Based on Batman’s behavior, Tim guessed it was a robbery. A high-level robbery, so something expensive, but either the robbery was done without any violence involved or the item stolen was harmless or both. It was a crime more in principle than in action. 

Tim got a few neat shots of Batman’s snooping before the vigilante started to head onto his return route. Tim packed up his things and headed home himself, to his waiting bed. 

Not once did he feel Neon’s presence. Tim found himself worrying. 

Dick Grayson had been his childhood hero, from leotard to cape. Tim couldn’t just stop caring now that he was… different. 

He wasn’t even evil. He just wasn’t in control. 

Tim noticed his bedroom door was open.

“Hey!” Tim shouted, stomping his foot to get the intruder’s attention. Neon paused in his work and glanced at Tim, staring passively. To Tim’s relief, he looked okay. He was limping a little, favoring one leg over the other, and his hands had some colorful bruising, but he’d clearly seen a doctor. It wasn’t life-threatening or anything. 

“What are you doing with my stuff? You can’t just come in here and mess with my things!” The room was a mess. Tim’s drawers were all open, and the contents of his backpack had been dumped onto the floor. The closet was open, and most of the things that had been hanging on the wooden hangers had fallen to the floor. Neon had been looking for something, but what? 

Neon’s face flickered with annoyance, then resumed its shape. (If Neon didn’t want Tim asking questions, then he shouldn’t be doing questionable things.) “I’m looking for pictures.”

Tim groaned, kicking his school supplies out of the way so he could at least walk inside. 

“If you wanted another Robin picture, you could’ve just asked me. I was out all night.”

“I want a picture of you.”

Tim suppressed a sigh. He’d seen this coming. “I’m sure there’s an old newspaper photo around here or something. Come on, we can look together.” 

Neon frowned, but didn’t argue. Tim led him to his dad’s office. The desk had been recently cleaned during his parents’ visit, but everything else could be carbon-dated by the layers of dust on it. 

“There’s probably some in here,” Tim opened a file cabinet and coughed, rifling through the stacks of papers. “This cabinet’s all about me.”

Tim pulled out the ones on top. A passport, SSN, and birth certificate - one would think they’d be better protected, but the cabinet wasn’t even locked. All of Tim’s dental and pediatric records were digital, not that Tim’s parents ever checked those. If Tim was lucky, sometimes they looked at his grades and either chastised him or offered to move him to a different school. 

The newspapers were underneath. The most recent ones were from when Tim was starting grade school. He’d built a tiny solar-powered car the summer before first grade and had been disappointed to hear that he was too young to compete in the race he’d built the car for. His parents had actually been home then, and had used their influence to sway the race organizers into making an exception. So, when all the kids - all the others having been in middle school at least - got their pictures taken for the Gotham Gazette, Tim had been there.

“Here you go,” Tim handed the page to Neon. “I can get you some scissors if you want to cut it out, unless you have a knife or something.”

Neon’s frown didn’t leave. “This is old.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Sorry, we don’t buy the yearbook pictures, so I don’t have anything better.”

“They were here last night.” Oh boy, here they went again. “How long will they be gone?”

“Supposed to be four months,” Tim shrugged. “They said they’d send me some Chilean spices if they remember, so…” 

“They were only here for a week.” Neon looked furious now, but his voice didn’t waver. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Tim muttered. “I’m fine.”

Neon looked like he wanted to press the matter further, but he didn’t. “Do you have any color pictures?” 

Tim sighed and nodded. A lightbulb went off in his head. “Actually, I have one you might like. It’s older than that one, though.”

Neon didn’t look too enthusiastic, but then, he never did. Tim walked back to his room, and Neon followed. Tim turned on his heel to face him. 

“No more rifling around in my room, got it?” Neon nodded. Tim got on his hands and knees and reached under his bed, feeling for the loose floorboard. He lifted it  and removed his most prized possession: his scrapbook. He flipped to the first page. 

Neon gasped. The picture in question was Tim’s favorite. It wasn’t the best quality, but just looking at it made Tim feel like he was back in that moment, when his parents still acted like they cared about him. He remembered the music and the lights and the boy’s arms around him. No one had ever hugged him like that before. His parents used to hug him for pictures, but that was it. This boy hugged him because he liked him, and he said they were friends, and the warmth and love in his smile had stuck in Tim’s head even as he got older. The boy’s parents were there too, with identical smiles. Their last picture was a happy one. 

Tim looked at Neon now, and was struck with a wave of grief. How could someone be so cruel as to rip that warmth and love away? 

If Neon noticed, he didn’t say anything. He reached out to take the picture, and Tim smacked his hand away. 

“I’m going to make you a copy. The original is mine, got it?” Neon nodded, content with that. 

It was a quiet ten minutes of waking the copy machine and starting it up. Tim handed the finished product to Neon, who folded it up and stuck it in his boot. Tim felt a bit odd when he thought about that - the thought of someone, anyone really, considering him equal to a Robin, was a wild concept. 

“Thank you,” Neon said as he stood. “I will leave now.”

Tim nodded. It made him feel dizzy, and he realized how tired he was. “Okay.”

Tim changed into his pyjamas as Neon climbed out the window. The panes slid shut from the outside, which Tim would have thought really considerate of him if not for the mess still all over the floor.

\---

Neon had disappeared off the face of the fucking earth, Jason was damn  _ sure. _ He hadn’t been spotted in months. First it had been worrying, but now it was just pissing Jason off. He took out said frustration on the loose stones in the street. If anyone asked why Robin was throwing a miniature temper tantrum in a dark alley at three in the morning, he’d tell them he’d decided the dirt was to blame for the rising crime rates, and that he was just doing his duty as a vigilante and as a well-intentioned Gotham citizen.

… 

Fuck this.

It was  _ boring _ . There was no need for Robin out tonight, but he’d come along anyway because he had nothing better to do and was hoping for a fight. No such luck. 

He tried to come up with some new jokes and stuff, too. He was still working on upping the number of times he got Bruce to laugh to five, but his recent attempts had all fallen flat. 

Boring, boring,  _ boring. _

Robin crossed his arms and huffed, leaning up against the brick wall. A shadow flickered and Robin’s head shot up. He didn’t hear anything, at first, but then the voice spoke. 

“Robin?” It was a kid. He stepped out of the dark of the alley, where he’d been hiding like a damn ninja. He looked a couple years younger, and he was scrawny and so very, very small, but the fancy camera hanging around his neck seemed to imply he wasn’t poor. 

“Howdy,” Robin cracked a grin; finally, something! “You need help getting home or something?”

“Um, no, I just…” The kid fiddled with his camera. The poor guy was shy, and small enough to fit in Jason’s pocket, probably. Bruce could throw him all the way to Metropolis if he tried. He was just _too damn small!_

Robin dulled down the brightness a bit and softened. “Hey, you okay? You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

Shortstack blinked. “No, I’m okay. I’m worried about, um, a friend, sort of.”

“A’ight,” Robin walked over. “What’s up with your friend?”

“He disappeared,” Itty-bitty explained. “It was a little less than three months ago. And before he disappeared, he visited me, and, um, I’m kind of worried.” 

“Has anybody filed a missing persons report?” A kid going missing that long - it should have popped up on the batcomputer’s files. Did Batman know about this?

Half-pint shook his head. “I don’t think anybody cares.”

Jason had known kids like that, but kids like that weren’t friends with rich kids who could help them. 

“What’s your friend’s name?” Robin asked. 

The pipsqueak looked nervous. “Um, it’s Dick.”

Jason blinked behind the mask. “...Dick?” 

Ankle-biter nodded. “Dick Grayson. I think something bad’s happened to him.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya, guys! So we've got Ivyverse, Harleyverse, Penguinverse and Fearverse all started up! There are three more 'verses' left to be introduced. In the meantime, let me know if there's a specific verse you want updated, and I'll put more time into that to try to get it out sooner! (The exception to this being Ivyverse, because the update to that is actually 100% ready, it's just written in my notebook... which is at a different house that I can't access because of quarantine. But Harleyverse, Penguinverse, and Fearverse are all fair game!) 
> 
> Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day!


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